


The Milkman

by HiroMyStory



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: (even though she's confused), But not exactly, Chloe is Horny, F/M, Fuckruary 2021 (Lucifer TV), Fuckruary 2021: Once Upon A Time, Humor, Humorous smut, Milkman AU, Miscommunication, Pre-Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 01, Sort Of, chloe is oblivious, half percent, lucifer is confused, too many quote prompts, yes Lucifer is the devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiroMyStory/pseuds/HiroMyStory
Summary: Chloe moves into her mom's beach house after separating from Dan. It's definitely a different kind of neighborhood than Chloe's used to. One of her new neighbors even has her milk delivered! By a very tall, very sexy, very British milkman. Or…so Chloe thinks, until she tries to order a delivery.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 32
Kudos: 103





	The Milkman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoanDiary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/gifts).



> I wrote most of this after a conversation about milk on a Lucifer discord. Then I got a bit distracted. But _then_ I realized today was the last day of February/Fuckruary! So I'm pushing it out! Fits (more or less) the prompts: AU, finger-fucking, and clothed sex. It also fills, oh, I think six of the dialogue prompts. They are listed in the end note!

Chloe knows moving into her mom’s place is a terrible idea—there’s no chance Penelope won’t hold it over her head ten ways to Sunday. No doubt, she’d made the offer to keep Chloe from making more permanent arrangements. Her mom’s face had said it all when Chloe’d told her she and Dan were separating. _No need to rush into anything, sweetheart,_ her mom’d said.

But Chloe needs this. Space from Dan. Time to decide.

Still, the beach house is a far cry from Chloe’s apartment with Dan and her old neighborhood. In a good way. Even if her mom’s style is written all over it. Even if driving home to the cute row of vintage cottages with their professional landscaping makes her feel like she’s living a bit of her mom’s life. Even if her new neighbors all know her mom and most are from her social set. 

Several of these women have stopped by to welcome Chloe. Ms. Preston (two doors to the left) has already offered her personal nutritionist, Ms. Clark (three to the right) has the _best_ personal trainer in every Tuesday and Thursday, and Ms. Kennedy (across the street) extolled her decorator for more than twenty minutes. 

The Henckels (next door) even have a milkman! 

That, as much as anything else, convinces Chloe she really is living in another world.

She’s only noticed because he delivers on Wednesdays, the day she works second shift. The delivery truck has been in her neighbors’ driveway a couple times when Chloe’s gotten home from running errands after dropping Trixie at school.

Today, she catches Ms. Henckel in her driveway staring down the road as the truck with the Morningstar Moo-ery logo disappears around the corner.

Chloe secures her bag of groceries on her hip and addresses her new neighbor across the strip of grass between their drives. “A milkman, huh?”

“Uh.” Ms. Henckel doesn’t turn her attention to Chloe for a _long_ moment, and there’s something dreamy in her eyes when she does. “Yeah. A milkman. The _best_ milkman.”

“Really? How’s that work?”

Ms. Henckels' gaze finally sharpens. “You know. The usual. He brings _milk_ by once a week.” She sighs. “My husband’s too busy to…well, pick it up himself.” 

_Great._ Ms. Henckel seems just as flighty as Chloe’s mom. Chloe plasters her smile on. “Well, that sounds, um, very convenient.”

Ms. Henckel is staring down the road again.

“So, uh, nice seeing you?” Chloe’s caught in the awkwardness of talking to a near-stranger who’s attention she isn’t holding. “Have a great day?” she adds in a rush, regretting that it comes out as a question. 

“Mm hmm. You, too.” Ms. Henckel agrees without looking her way.

Yep, Chloe can see why Ms. Henckel and her mom are good friends.

* * *

The next week, Chloe catches the milkman heading out the Henckels' door when she pulls up after her errands. She does a double take: Whatever she expected a milkman to look like, it’s not this tall, handsome man strolling down the walk like he owns it. The only clue he’s _actually_ the milkman is the empty milk crate he’s carrying and the white, brimmed cap he’s sporting at an angle. Otherwise, he’s wearing an extremely well-fitted three-piece suit, albeit a white one. Could that _possibly_ be his uniform? Weird. He’s also grinning and whistling like his is the best job in the world.

Chloe waves to catch his attention.

The milkman is at her side in a few long strides. In fact, a little too in her space. She takes a small step back, so she doesn’t need to be looking _up_ to make eye contact. His grin is directed at her now as he gives her a once over that has Chloe regretting her messy ponytail and the ratty clothes thrown on for errands.

“I didn’t realize Diane had such a lovely neighbor.” The English accent is as startling as everything else about him. His long fingers brush his lapel. “Lucifer Morningstar.”

Chloe tries to hide her double take with a quick glance at his truck. At least the devil horns on the dancing cows in his logo make more sense. If not the…are they thongs? Surely not.

“So, you deliver milk to the Henckels?”

“Mmm,” he hums. “Diane and I have a standing engagement. The milk delivery was her _desire._ And, well, she’s _dreadfully_ anxious about _Mr._ Henckel, so this _arrangement_ puts her mind at ease.” His eyebrows bob with his words even as he leans in as if milk delivery is a scandalous secret.

Chloe blinks and takes another half step back. “Right, yeah, she mentioned. Had nothing but good things to say, actually.” 

His grin is brilliant and ten shades of self-satisfied. Nothing wrong with taking pride in one’s work, she supposes. She bites her lip and hems and haws for a moment. This is an extravagance, but single motherhood hasn’t exactly been coming easy with her job. “Look, I’ve never done something like this before. But…I recently split up from my husband, and between work and my daughter, I’m a little overwhelmed. Can hardly find a spare moment.”

“Say no more!” He leans forward, holding her gaze a touch too intently for comfort. “I’m sure I can”—his tongue flicks the side of his cheek—“fit you into my schedule.” There’s something vaguely obscene about the gesture. “It’s a deal, then?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s great,” Chloe stammers. “Do you need a deposit? Let me grab my checkbook.” She’s pretty sure it’s in the box in the hall, still waiting to be unpacked.

“Oh, no no no, my dear.” His eyes sparkle, amused. “No need for that.” 

_Of course._ She nods. He’ll bill her later. Rich people don’t pay in advance, and he assumes she’s one because she lives here.

“Is this a good time for deliveries? I work the swing shift on Wednesdays. Otherwise, I have to be out of the house by 7:30 and head straight to work after I drop my daughter at school.”

His nose wrinkles as if she’s said something distasteful, but before Chloe can work out what it might have been, he’s glancing back at the Henckel house. “I’m sure Ms. Henckel won’t mind rescheduling to Thursdays.”

Chloe’s not sure why he would need to reschedule the Henckels’ delivery, but it’s his trade after all. “Perf—”

She cuts off as he catches her hand. His fingers flutter along her wrist, and she shivers. Then, he’s turning her arm to look at her watch. “So Wednesdays at twelve thirty? If not, I can be… _flexible.”_

“That’s great.” She nods vigorously, snatching her wrist back. “Actually, my shift starts at one thirty and, well, you know, L.A. traffic…” She glances at his truck again. Of course he does; he’s a delivery man. “So let’s make it noon just to be safe.”

“Really,” he scoffs. “Better make it eleven. I’m no two-pump chump.”

She tilts her head at him. “Is that milkman slang or something?”

His brow creases. “Not that I’m aware.”

“Whatever. Eleven’s fine. Anyway, I have to get ready for work. So, uh, see you next week?”

As she heads to her door, she catches his eyes running over her figure in a way that would be flattering if it wasn’t slightly skeevy. 

“Count on it,” he calls after her.

* * *

Chloe gets called in early the next Wednesday morning. It’s all hands on deck after three bodies are found by a jogger in Griffith Park. She’s just grabbed up the files she brought home last night and looped her purse on her arm when she hears a sharp _rap rap rap_ at the door.

_Oh shit._ She totally forgot the milk delivery she’d set up. At least he’s caught her before she rushed out. She shifts her folders to get a free hand and swings open the door. 

The tall Englishman is leaning indolently against her door frame, white cap pulled low over his eyes, a shallow crate with a single jar of milk is dangling from the hand that isn’t fondling the weatherstripping.

“You know, you look familiar,” he drawls. _“Have we met before?”_

She stares. “Uh, _yeah._ Last week?”

A confused look to match hers flits across his face, but then his confident smirk is back. “Indeed. And here I am: Right on time. _Hope you stretched first.”_

“What?” She shakes her head. He’s weird, but she’s late, and the files are slipping in her arms. “Uh, I have to get to work early today.” She nods at the jar of milk. “Would you mind throwing that in the fridge?”

He squints.

“Sorry. Is that not appropriate? It’s just I have my hands full.”

“Mmm,” he purrs. “I love me some roleplay.”

“Please. I’m late and if you could just…”

He saunters across the room as if she hadn’t said she was in a hurry. It’s not a bad view, but she has no time for this. 

“Weird,” she mutters. 

But she watches him all the way to the fridge where he…huh, turns to face her before he stretches against the side of the appliance and begins running his fingers _very_ slowly down the long door handle. Chloe can’t help follow the almost _teasing_ movement along the plastic, and… she’s not holding her breath, is she? When at last he grips the handle and pulls just hard enough to pop the door’s rubber seal, it’s almost a relief. Chloe’s eyes fly to his, and he holds her gaze as he eases the door open just far enough to slip the milk inside. Then, with a wink and a flourish, he’s slammed the fridge closed. 

Chloe runs her tongue against the top of her mouth for enough moisture to say: “Th-thanks. Now I _really_ have to go. Work. Late.” She’s backing out the door, giving him room to follow. “Next week?”

“Anticipation. I like it.” His tongue darts along his lower lip, and he tips his cap.

Chloe fumbles with her lock as she watches him climb into his truck and pull away. Great, now she’s lusting after the milkman. Maybe single life isn’t all it’s cut out to be.

* * *

A week later, Chloe’s in the kitchen reorganizing her pan cupboard. In her best work outfit. With her makeup done even though she doesn’t have to leave for work for another couple hours. She rolls her eyes. _Definitely_ not trying to impress a certain fancy milkman. Nope. Wasn’t she _just_ telling her mom last night she wasn’t ready to date yet?

The microwave clock says 10:58. Just like it said 10:55, 10:50, 10:45. She shoves the seldom used roaster into the back of the cupboard. The double boiler is following it when she hears the front door opening.

She pops up, panicked, sure it was locked. In her rush, she bangs her elbow, catches her favorite blouse on a drawer handle hard enough to hear a seam tear, and the hair she’d spent extra time blow-drying somehow flies everywhere.

And there’s the milkman, watching her with twinkling eyes. “Apologies. I thought I was expected.”

She tries to pet her hair back into place even as she winces at the pain in her elbow. “Yeah. Um, yeah. Definitely. But, uh, can you ring the doorbell next time?”

His eyes sparkle. _“Can I?_ Darling, I practically invented it. _They don’t call it the Devil’s doorbell for nothing.” ___

____

__

“Huh?”

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises, voice even lower than usual.

So handsome and so weird. Chloe shakes her head. “I’m…not expecting to be?” 

He slides the milk crate onto the island next to her and is very much in her space when he repeats, “You won’t be.”

Chloe tears her eyes from his lips. This conversation makes no sense, and her elbow is throbbing. “Would you grab the bag of peas from the freezer? Oh, and would you put the milk on the _top_ shelf this time?”

He huffs and looks at her like _she’s_ the strange one. “I had thought, maybe _me on top this time._ ”

“Wha—”

But her words evaporate when he ostentatiously bends over to open her freezer. He does it from the waist, and she’s left looking as the white fabric of his _very_ well tailored suit shifts over his _very_ nice-looking bum. He wiggles as he rummages for frozen peas that _can’t_ be that hard to find. 

Chloe stares, dry mouthed and fingering the low neckline of her blouse. _No one_ opens a freezer like that. Except, apparently, her milkman.

He makes just as big a show of straightening up, and Chloe snaps her eyes elsewhere just in time for him to turn around. He’s offering the bag of peas to her for a beat too long before she reaches out and takes them. He then puts her milk away—on the top shelf like she asked and with minimal fondling of her appliance this time. She still stares all the while.

When he turns back to her, his smile is crooked and knowing. “You don’t have to make up excuses to ask me to _bend over,_ darling.” He licks his lips. “It’s _always_ my pleasure.”

“Huh?” Her brain seems to be stuck in some stage of reboot.

He nods at the frozen bag she’s holding but not applying to her elbow.

“Oh!” She snaps the bag in place hard enough to start her elbow twinging again. For a moment, she’d forgotten it was hurting. “It-it wasn’t an excuse! I—”

He _tsks,_ and she stops talking. He’s very close when says, “You are lovely when you’re flustered.”

This only flusters Chloe further. His eyes dart down from her eyes to her lips to the crinkled neckline of her blouse and finally to the peas and elbow she’s holding between them like a shield. 

She’s as frozen as the vegetables as his fingers wrap around hers, easing her grip off the bag. He tosses it behind him, and she hears it land with a _plop_ in the sink. But she doesn’t see it, because she’s transfixed, watching him lift her elbow to his lips. His very soft lips. Which are ghosting over skin.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispers.

“Mmm. That’s good to hear.” He didn’t let go of her arm, shifting it instead so he’s kissing the inside of her wrist, grazing with just the hint of teeth. Then, his teeth are on her thumb, firmer, as he pulls it into his mouth. She can’t take her eyes off the positively obscene way he’s sucking on it, even while his tongue and teeth turn her thumb of all things into her most unexpected erogenous zone.

_Oh shit,_ she thinks. She’s incredibly turned on. Incredibly horny and incredibly turned on. She, sensible and practical Chloe Decker, is definitely about to have sex with this weird, handsome near-stranger. Probably on the kitchen island. So, she does the most sensible thing she can think of: she grabs his hips and pulls him against her.

“Lovely,” she catches him say after he releases her thumb but before he’s buried in the bit of cleavage her definitely-now-for-sure favorite blouse is revealing. His silly white cap tumbles to the floor, unmourned.

She’s flushed and panting as her fingers find his hair to urge him on, and she presses herself into his thigh, hot with want. She idly wonders if frozen peas could cool that fire. But they are all the way over in the sink. And besides, she’s already decided this is going to happen. She’s canting her hips in her need, lifting onto her toes, ready to wrap her legs…

And then his big hands are curling around her thighs and lifting her with ease. Up, up. Yep, definitely going to be on the kitchen island.

She squeaks in surprise when she lands on the milk crate, and she feels his chuckle against her chest. He’s managed to undo a couple of her shirt’s buttons with his teeth, and she reaches below him to help with the others. One pops loose in her urgency and bounces off his chin. 

“It was already torn anyway,” she mutters and yanks her favorite former-blouse-now-probably-cleaning-rag the rest of the way open. 

“ _Darling,_ ” he praises. “I knew you had it in you.” 

His hands caress under her breasts as he mouths her pebbled nipples through the lace of her sexiest bra. She moans, strokes his hair, wants to praise him. _Crap._ What should she call him? She doesn’t think he’d appreciate ‘milkman,’ even if that’s how she’s been thinking about him in her head. “Oh, yes! Mr. Mor—”

His lips shift to hers, cutting her off. “It’s Lucifer, darling.” 

His teeth clatter against hers, even as his hand is undoing her pants. He raises her hips with a hand at the small of her back and eases her pants down her thighs. His teeth nibble her jaw then find her neck, as his fingers slip between her legs, caressing her through damp lace panties that coincidentally do in fact match her bra today. 

“Lucifer!” she squeals when his thumb presses on her clit, tantalizing _but not firm enough._ Her hands scrabble for purchase so she can push up, up into… She grabs…catches hold of…of…plastic milk crate handles.

He laughs, delighted. “ _I see you’ve found my love handles._ ”

“Ugh!” she says. “Shut up!” Her face reddens. “I mean, you don’t have to shut up, but _please_ keep going.” She pushes his face toward her breasts.

“Indeed,” he agrees, before dragging aside her panties to slip two fingers past her slick folds. His lips fix on one of her nipples, sucking hard through the fabric.

When he curls his fingers inside her, Chloe’s head falls back, and she’s babbling and jerking and the milk crake skitters on the counter under her movements.

His breathy laugh against her breast is a delight as he uses a free hand to secure the crate in place.

After that, there’s nothing for Chloe to do but hang on for dear life as his fingers work her into a frenzy and beyond.

* * *

The comedown is blissful. Then the reality of what just happened hits Chloe like, well, a bag of frozen peas.

“Oh, God,” Chloe moans. “I’m turning into my mom. I’ve gone and slept with the milkman.”

Lucifer raises his head. “ _Please_ don’t bring parents into this. Well, at least not mine.” He looks genuinely aggrieved until his features morph through confused straight into amused. “Wait. You don’t actually think I’m a milkman, do you?” He laughs, deep and low. 

Her face heats, and she’s sure she's the color of a tomato.

“You did!” His delight is so genuine, it takes a bit of the sting out of her embarrassment. But then he adds: “My dear, you must not watch enough porn.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. But... “If not a milkman, then…what?”

“The Devil, of course! I also own a nightclub in Hollywood. Lux—you might’ve heard of it? Delightful den of sin. But mostly I’m in the business of fulfilling desires, carnal or otherwise.” There’s heat behind his eyes as they trace her face. “Including those of horny but oblivious detectives.”

She slaps at his crisp white shirt, a disbelieving gesture. “Come on! That whole scenario is ridiculous. Who does stuff like this in real life?”

His pout is so on the border between put on and put out, she’s not sure if he’s actually hurt.

But then his pout melts into a smile. “Well, you know what they say: _The Devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you’ve ever wished for._ ” His dark eyes are intense right up until he bops her nose. “Guess you wished for a shag with the milkman! How udderly unexpected!”

She bats his hand away. “Stop! That was just coincidence, and you know it.”

“ _Maybe,_ ” Lucifer allows. “Or maybe it’s just a kink you didn’t know you had, and this was a delightful cowincidence.” He grins, pleased with himself. “Speaking of undiscovered kinks”—he glances at the microwave clock—“I believe we have another hour and twenty-three minutes before you have to leave for work.”

* * *

An hour and eight minutes—and approximately five orgasms—later, Chloe’s laying on her back in her bed, while Lucifer drops light, teasing kisses along her ribcage. 

“Shall we make this a regular thing, then?” His question rumbles into her, deep and pleasant.

“I wish. But, no. I’ve got regular background check renewals and ethics rules. I can’t have a milkman gigolo on the side.”

His head pops up, interrupting the path he’s kissing toward her belly. “Mmm, but have you considered taking on a civilian consultant?”

She scoffs. “Lieutenant Monroe would never agree to that.”

At his cheshire-cat grin, Chloe laughs, bright and pure, and pushes him further south. 

Might as well have fun while this lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote prompts filled:  
> “Have we met before?”  
> “Hope you stretched first.”  
> “They don’t call it the Devil’s doorbell for nothing.”  
> “Me on top this time.”  
> “I see you’ve found my love handles.”  
> “The Devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.”
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, or come find me on Tumblr at [hiromystory](https://hiromystory.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
